


Ricktified

by orphan_account



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: A little bit of alien and human blood, Broh, Gen, Illustrations, Invention tinkering, Morty waves are broken, Morty's getting smart, Pawn shops, RIck and Mort build things together!, SPACE ADVENTURES YO
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4745195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morty gets real smart in this one, Broh! Morty makes a portal gun, Broh! Rick takes him on a cross universe field trip to teach Morty a thing or two, Broh!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

Somewhere in the onslaught of adventures that presented themselves, Morty got smart.

Maybe it was the adventure where Morty had to play peekaboo to disarm an alien who had the object permanence of a 4 month old. Perhaps it was the time Morty had to correctly guess which Rick was the real one from a bunch of cloning humanoids that had the grand ol’ plan to eat his family.

It didn’t quite matter to Rick when Morty decided to sharpen up. What mattered was that Morty’s ‘Morty waves’ weren’t doing as well as they used to. Rick had even double checked this using a brain wave scanner one night while the kid was sleeping. They had looked, undoubtedly, less Mortyish. What had used to be perfect swooping lines working in tandem with Rick’s own brainwaves, had turned into something less pronounced. The crests and troughs of the wave had become less pronounced, the amplitude lacking. If anything, the wave had to begun to reverse itself completely…

No wonder they were hunted down three times last week.

    There was a test to be done, Rick had decided. A harmless little test designed to see what Morty was made of. He wouldn’t tell Morty what was going on, of course. He had to figure that own part on his own.

* * *

Rick knocks before entering Morty’s room. He knows better than to just walk in.

“M-Morty,” Rick says, “Open up. Gotta talk to you about something. Morty? Moooort--”

Morty opens the door up the door, neck craned up and wearing Pj’s. “Adventure time again?”

“Yeah, if you call jury duty an adventure. Citadel of Ricks called me in, there’s some lame ass case against one of the Ricks in one of the Theta dimensions.”  
    “I thought you hated those guys?”   
    “I DO. Look, look, Morty, jury duty isn’t something you can just escape from. These guys, they’ll hunt you down and lock you in a room and make you stare at some evidence until your eyes bleed out. It’s not fun.”

Morty stares at the ground, twiddling his thumbs. “You think, you think I could come along?”

“Not this time, bud. It’s so boring. You know how boring it is? A bunch of uppity Ricks in suits go back and forth over how screwed one particular Rick is.This goes on for an entire week.

“Aw jeez, an ENTIRE week?”

“ I know, right?”

Morty meanders over to his bed, before flopping over to stare at the ceiling. “...This means no adventures for an entire week, doesn't it?”

“YUUUUP. Look, if your family needs anything, and it’s an EMERGENCY,” Rick takes out his flask out, and unscrews the cap, “And I mean an actual emergency. Not some stupid shit like your dad running out of ice cream money; then there’s a device in my room that’ll contact me. Got it?”

Morty continues to stare at his ceiling. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’m out. Peeaace! Rick downs the rest of the flask’s contents, before slamming Morty’s door. Some action figures positioned on the shelf nearby fall to the floor. Morty’s going to step on them later.

* * *

 

24 hours in, and Morty’s twitching.

There’s something about the fact that not going on adventures any time soon that’s getting through to Morty’s little head. It’s not that he isn’t used to sitting at home. There was a time before Rick, when he just messed around on his laptop, and attempted to talk to girls. Morty was so young then. Was that really all that entertained him?

He’s been Pavlov trained, Morty has decided. He had learned that concept from school. Or maybe Rick. It’s gotten hard to tell recently. Weekly adventures had turned into twice weekly outings, and then eventually, adventures every day. The days and nights and dimensions have been blurred, much to Morty’s enjoyment. Now, everything has come to a screeching halt. And Morty’s getting all slobbery.

He goes for a walk around the neighborhood. It doesn't do much, but it does seem to calm Morty’s nerves a little. He’s just stuck. On a floating rock traveling through space. Forever.

Nope, this isn’t helping. Not at all.

 

* * *

 

Understandably, Morty doesn't get much sleep that night.

This is the usually the time when Rick drags him out of his room, kicking and screaming, tossing up a portal to another dimension. Tonight, for the first time in seemingly forever, there’s nothing. It’s maddening.

After a dozen tosses and turns, Morty flops out of his bed onto the floor. He stays there, nose in the carpet, for a good 20 minutes before deciding to do something. When he finally figures out what he wants to do with himself, Morty picks himself up, and creeps out of his room into the darkened house.

Morty finds his way downstairs. Except for the gentle whirr of machinery coming from Rick’s bedroom, the house is silent. It’s too quiet for Morty’s liking. He needs some noise.  

Rick’s room is, fortunately, unlocked. Stuff is strewn about all over on the floor, and the walls contain a myriad of pictures and blueprints.

On the nightstand next to the pitiful cot that Rick considers a bed, there’s a glowing, beeping contraption. It’s got a screen with numbers plastered on it, and a microphone, and all sorts of wires sticking out. This must be the device used to contact Rick if things go awry. Morty moves it to the side. There’s something much more interesting underneath.

Underneath the device, there’s a stack of blueprints. Some of them are laminated, some of them stained with what appears to be hard liquor; all of them are nearly unreadable in the dark. Morty slides the stack underneath his arm, and then promptly exits the bedroom. The place always gave him the creeps, anyway.

Back in his own bedroom, Morty examines the blueprints. There’s about 15 in total, ranging from inventions like robots that do your laundry for you, to a flamethrower that somehow works on water. There’s blueprints for spaceships, genetic monstrosities, a fully functional portal gun…

A fully functional portal gun.

Morty sweeps away the other blueprints, and holds the recipe for the portal gun up to the lamplight. All the writing is legible. The steps, while complicated, seem doable. And Morty’s seen all the parts required at one point or another lying around the garage.

This doesn't seem like a hard project at all. Shouldn’t this be difficult? Regardless, Morty has found something to keep himself busy for the time being. He shoves all of the blueprints underneath his bed, and then crawls into his still warm bed. He’s going to need some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.

 

* * *

 

It’s a Wednesday, and Morty’s sick.

He’s not actually sick. Turns out, it’s really easy to fake a fever. His dad squints at him when Morty strings together his lie, almost as if he knows what’s going on. He doesn't, of course, and leaves Morty alone after getting him some orange juice and some cough drops. Morty reads the blueprint over and over again when Jerry disappears, nearly memorizing the components needed.

When his dad leaves the house for errands, Morty has the house to himself. He makes his way down to the makeshift workshop that calls itself a garage, and begins rooting around through boxes. He’s careful not to touch any of Rick’s work-in-progress inventions. That could be disasterous.

He finds the first piece he needs in a wayward box, pushed aside to make way for greater things. The component, a trans-dimensional GPS, fits in the palm of Morty’s hand. He doesn't have any pockets on him, so he sets aside the item for now.

After more digging, Morty finds most of the parts needed. The workshop table is now filled to the brim with gizmos and tools. He even makes an improvisation; using a shot glass from Rick’s impromptu bar instead of the regular glass dome on top.There’s no possible way that Morty’s going to be able to carry all of this upstairs. He finds his solution to that problem hanging up on a nearby coat rack.

Rick’s spare labcoat.

Upon first glance, it’s one of the more gross things that Morty’s seen. It’s stained and weathered from nearly a year of adventures, and reeks of alcohol. The ends are frayed, and there’s a small hole or two in the sleeves.

Then Morty tries it on. It’s rather nice, actually. It’s a bit too big for him, as the sleeves dangle well past his hands, and the tail drags across the ground; but it has all the room Morty needs to move his components upstairs. Morty shoves the blueprint ingredients into the spare pockets, then leaves the garage to migrate all of the supplies upstairs.

On his trip back upstairs, Morty grabs a soda from the fridge. When he closes the door, there’s someone standing next to him, arms crossed. It’s Summer.

He only freaks out a little bit.

“S-S-Summer! What-what are you doing here?”

“I grab my lunch from home everyday. Doi. What are you doing out of your room? Let me guess, you aren't actually sick, are you?”  
    “Well, I mean… Don’t tell mom and dad, okay?”

Summer’s face turned gave a small, evil smile. “Don’t tell them what? That you’re turning into Grandpa?”  
    “I-I… What?”

“You heard me. You’re going to grow up and be an old, alcoholic douchebag. Grandpa Rick’s just teaching you his ways early.”  
    “That’s not true!” Morty says, “I’m-I’m going to be better than him!”

“Morty. You’re wearing his labcoat.”  
    Morty takes a step back from his sister, nearly tripping on the overly long coattails. “...It was drafty…”

“Sure. Look, I don’t know what you’re planning, but I won’t tell Mom or Dad. They’re probably not going to like what you’re doing. Personally, I don’t really care.”

“...Thanks, Summer.”

“Now go pretend to be sick or something.”

* * *

Two days later, and Morty is making progress on his portal gun.

There’s a definite shape that the mass of electronics is beginning to make. It’s significantly more shaped like the sleek device that Rick uses, rather than the sum of its parts. Still, it’s taking him forever to figure out everything.

In the mornings, he continues to play sick to avoid going to school. When everyone leaves the house, Morty pulls out his work-in-progress from underneath the bed, and continues where he left off. In the afternoons, Summer checks up on her brother, increasingly worried each time. He’s still on the floor, tinkering. Still wearing the labcoat.

In the nighttimes is when Morty really excels. He downs an energy drink or two, and works throughout the night in peace. There’s nobody to bug him about his work, there’s no distractions. It’s just Morty, his portal gun, and the stars out his window.

He hasn’t been bored or antsy since he started this project.

* * *

The morning of day four is when Morty finishes his portal gun.

The craftmanship is a bit shoddy. Morty had to re-solder a couple of wires after messing up the connections the first time around, and the outer casing isn’t properly formed.   
    However, Junky and functional was still better than not functional at all. And Morty still had to test that part out. Before he has the chance to, there’s a knock at his door. He scrambles to throw his invention underneath his covers, but before he can toss aside the labcoat, the door opens anyway. It’s Summer again. Of course it is. She closes the door behind her.

“Mom and Dad are going to haul your butt down to the doctor’s office this morning if you’re “sick” again,” Summer says, “Morty, you need to tell me what’s up now so I can cover your ass. What are you doing in here that’s so important?”

“I…” Morty starts, “I remade Rick’s portal gun. I found all the parts in Rick’s shop and I--”  
    “Hold up. You remade Grandpa’s portal gun? No way. There’s no way I’m going to believe that. Show me.”

Morty pauses, thinking about his options. After a moment, he rips the sheet off of his bed, revealing his invention. Summer doesn't hesitate to pick it up.

“What the hell.” Summer says, inspecting the device. “It’s got all the buttons, and the dome thing, all the lights… Does it work? Like, actually work?”  
    “ I-I don’t know yet. I was about to test it and you came in.”

    Summer squeezes the trigger.

Morty’s room erupts into light. There’s a portal in his room, with swirling blues in color, hanging in the air above his bed.

Summer drops the portal gun on the carpet. “Holy shit.”

    There’s a solid minute of silence. Somehow, through days of trial and error, through two sleepless nights and cans and cans of energy drinks and the stars guiding him, Morty had done it. Morty had made a portal gun. An actual working proper portal gun.

“But why is it blue?”

The moment turns to confusion. All of Rick’s portals were green. Morty steps up to his bed, and sticks his hand through the swirling void. It goes through to the other side, and hits his wall. It’s not taking him anywhere.

Then he realizes.

He didn’t type coordinates in.

“Summer, I’ll be right back. I have to go get something from Rick’s room.”

“Morty, wait! Mom and Dad are still downst--”  
    The door slams in the middle of Summer’s sentence.

Morty practically slides down the stairs, leaping and bounding until he gets to the bottom. He races past the kitchen, where his still sleepy parents are enjoying their morning coffee. There’s a muffled “Morty?” that he can barely hear. He dosen’t have the patience to explain what been going on for the past few days. Morty tears into Rick’s room, and the device he needs- Rick’s emergency locater and contactor-- is right where he had left it. He grabs it, and quickly runs upstairs before his parents can say anything about what’s going on.

Morty opens his bedroom door; The portal is still working, and Summer is still there, confused. He picks up his creation, and compares it to Rick’s. The numbers listed on Rick’s device aren't random. They’re coordinates. Morty types them into his own portal gun.

The portal above his bed turns green.

“Hey, Summer? I’m going to go find Rick. I’ll be back soonish, okay? You should probably stay here and explain things to Mom and Dad. I mean, they’re probably going to be really mad, but I’m sure they’ll understand…”

Morty walks up to the portal, illuminated by the twisting greens of adventure. He sticks a hand in, and throws his entire body in shortly afterward. the dimensional hole disappears with him.

Summer has so much explaining to do.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Rickopoly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morty finds Rick

Morty falls unceremoniously to the ground.

He’s lucky he didn’t break anything this time around; the portal spat him out three feet above the tiled floor, letting Morty freefall for a bit. Thankfully, he manages to brace himself against the floor with his hands, inches before falling flat on his face. Upon a quick inspection of the floor, each individual tile has a Rick face engraved into their hard surfaces.

Well, he’s not in the wrong place.

Morty props himself up, and his environment becomes all the more clear. There’s one version of Rick and Morty eating pizza at a nearby table, and several more Ricks and Mortys waiting in line at a nearby kiosk. In the corner there’s even a wizard version of the duo, wearing pointy, starred hats. If he ever needed a second home, Morty was sure that this would be it.

There was a problem, however. None of these specific Ricks looked to belong to this Morty. Many of them looked the part and acted the part, but they all had a defining quirk that showed Morty that this RIck wasn’t his. After headhunting for his own Rick for a while, Morty gets irritated. He’s not making progress.

After looking for a Rick in a Rickstack, Morty stands up on a nearby bench, to grab attention.

“Hello, Ricks!”

He continues, despite not garnering much attention.

“I am Morty Smith, from Dimension C-137! I have come here on my own accord, t-through a portal gun that I built!”

That gathers attention quickly. Many of the Ricks are now staring right into Morty’s soul. Some are squinting, while others have a flash of surprise dance across their face before they hide it. Many of the Mortys accompanying their Ricks have their mouths slightly agape.

“O-Oh. Wow, I didn’t think that, that would actually get anybody’s attention…”

“C-137? He’s in the west wing, Playing Rickopoly.”

“I… Are you serious?”

* * *

  
“I want to be the spaceship piece!”

“N-N-No, you were the spaceship piece last time!”

“Holy. shit. Does anyone have a spare pulse gun I can borrow? I just need it to… I just need to…”

In a lone corner of the West wing, next to a table of unread pamphlets, the worst game ever of Rickopoly is being played. Two Mortys are fighting over which piece they want, and a third Morty is texting his interdimensional friends. There’s a Rick acting as banker in the middle of them all, wearing a visor. His head is down in the pile of fake money, probably from shame. It looks like his Rick. Morty carefully picks up Rick’s head by his hair, to see his face. There’s a  face full of regret, and a fake 20 dollar bill stuck to his drool.

This is definitely his RIck.

“M-Morty?”

“The C-137 one, yeah.”

“You little shit.” Rick’s voice is as scratchy and condescending as ever, but he only ever means that endearingly. He peels the paper money off of his face, now with a cheesy smile growing across his face. “You’re wearing my labcoat.”

“Well, yeah. I-I-”

“How’d you even get here, anyway?” Rick interjects, “It’s not like I left the ship with you guys or anything…“I… uh…” Morty finds the pocket with his homebrewed portal gun nestled inside, and after a small internal debate, sets it in front of Rick without saying another word. Rick takes to inspecting it immediately.  

“Hmmm… Wiring sucks, although the casing isn’t that bad… Hey! You used a shot glass as a Diaprompater! Wish I thought of that. Looky here, Morty. you actually made something useful.” Rick begins to unscrew the shot glass off of the top of the devices, and dumps his alcohol of choice into it from his flask.

“Hey, I worked hard on that! I had to skip school and everything to get--”   
“You even skipped school to make this? M-Morty, you’re really coming along nicely. I’m proud of you.”

For the first time since Morty can remember, Rick’s words sound 100 percent genuine. If anything, that makes his speech twice as scary as normal.

“Now, c’mon! We have a whoooole bunch of other douche canoes we have to brag to!”

Morty is abruptly dragged. His Grandpa takes him by the collar through golden hallways and corridors, rambling on and on about something. Morty hasn’t caught any of the words past “proud”.

Eventually, Rick and Morty reach a nearby gift shop. Rick walks straight past all of the Morty dolls and windshield Rickers and up to the cash wrap. The bored shopkeep Morty is terrified, but doesn’t intervene. He searches around the counter, until he finds what he’s looking for underneath some open Hustler magazines. The intercom.

“What uuuuup, bitches!” Rick blares into the device, “C-137 here. Guess who’s Morty just passed the teleporter test? That’s right. Mine.”

The shopkeep Morty stares at C-137 Morty, and slowly backs into the break room, eyes locked the entire time.

Somewhere, deep down inside, Morty knows that he’s done something horribly wrong. But, he’s made his Rick proud, and that’s all that matters, right?

“This place is going to get reaal crowded Morty,” Rick says, “let’s just get to our ship on the lower deck.”

“Wh-Why?”

“You’ll see.”

Rick, before heading out of the gift shop, finds a shelf of flasks. He takes one, not bothering to tell the Shopkeep Morty from the back.

Emerging from the Gift shop, there’s an abundance of Ricks lined up. Some try to give Morty fist bumps and high fives. Others are congratulating Rick himself, attempting to shake hands. Rick brushes them off.

There isn’t a Morty in sight.

Several twists and turns later, and they’ve made it to the lower parking deck. Rows upon rows of the same spaceship are lined up, and the dim lighting makes it even harder to tell which spaceship belongs to them. Thankfully, Rick has installed a beeper.

When they do find their spaceship, Rick hops in the passenger seat. Morty tenses up.

“What’s a matter? You can drive.”

“Not-Not well, Rick.”

“We’re just going to go to a little waffle house at the edge of the universe, Morty. It’s not even the ‘edge of the universe’. They just named it that so they could garner tourists. Let’s GO.”

“Ugh, fine.” Morty sits himself down in the driver's seat, and after the keys change hands, the spaceship starts up with a purr. He adjusts the seat and mirrors, buckles his seatbelt, and then blasts off into space with his Gramps.

* * *

  


“You see, Morty,” Rick says, taking a bite out of his waffle, “You’re one of the first Morty’s to actually pass the test that we’ve put in place. Isn’t that sweet? You’re smarter than allll of your little Morty friends…”

“Just, did you have to spend a whole week away to prove myself? You could have guided me through how to make the thing, it would’ve been easier.”  
 “No. You had to do this on your own. You had to balls up and actually build the thing yourself. And you know what? You did just that. You ballsed up, Morty.”

They sat across from one another in 50’s styled booths, munching away at a strangely earthlike breakfast. Ever since Morty and Rick had left the Citadel of Ricks, Morty’s gotten nothing but praise from his Grandpa. It’s getting uncomfortable. Rick finishes his glass of orange juice, then motions for another to the four-armed waitress.

“Look, Morty, I’m real sorry that I had to hide out for a week at my own stingy government hideout. I knew you wouldn’t be able to go for that long without adventures, I just didn’t think you would take it that…”

Rick looks at his spare lab coat that Morty’s wearing. He’s not going to be able to take it off of the kid. Not easily, anyway. There’s a click of information in RIck’s brain.

“...Badly. I was thinking, Morty, how about we do a whole week of adventures? Just, one big weeklong road trip through the cosmo’s. We’ll call it ‘Morty boot camp.’ Yeah. I like the sound of that.”

“Rick! Wha-What about my.. our family? Mom and Dad are already going to kill me when I get home!”

“Which is why we’re not going back home. Or telling them, for that matter. You really think Jerry is going to approve of this? He doesn't even approve of my choice of soda, Morty. You know how closed-minded he is?”

The 4 armed waitress brings Rick another glass of orange juice. Rick spikes it with alcohol.   
“Aw gee… I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Good. It’s getting late, and I can tell that you haven’t slept in--”

“--two days--”

“two days, right. I’m going to go rent out a cheap motel for the night, down the street. Tell me in the morning whether you want to go on the trip of a lifetime or not.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“And, for the record, you have gotten better at that whole ‘no sleep’ thing.”

 

* * *

 

It’s 3:15 AM, and like clockwork, a drunken Rick drags Morty out of bed.

Morty was enjoying his sleep this time around. Drunk Rick, on the other hand, had plans this time around. Dragging him feet first, Rick takes Morty out of the ratty motel bed, out the door past the ice machine, and out into the nighttime. Instead of taking him on a wild ride, however, Rick sits down on the pavement alongside Morty.

“M-M-Morty.”

“Yeah, Rick?”

“You’re my favorite.” Rick burps.

“Gee, thanks. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Morty, l-l-l-look at the sky Morty.”

Through bleary eyes, Morty takes a gander at the nighttime sky. It is rather pretty, with the planet’s two moons that take up most of the sky. And the millions of stars filling the rest of the space.

“It’s alright, I guess.”

“Morty, all of those stars. All of the stars are going to be yours Morty. All of them.”

“You’re drunk, Rick.”

“You wanna be drunk too, Morty?” Rick fumbles around in his lab coat, until he finally finds what he’s looking for. Just as Morty’s going to go back inside, There’s a clang on the ground next to him. A flask.”

“I s-s-stole it from the gift shop we were in earlier Morty. You can have it if you want. it’s yours, Morty. Really helps with the nightmares.”

Morty picks up the flask, now slightly dented from the impact. It’s got his name engraved into it. Figures.

“All the starssss. They’re yours too, Morty.”

 

* * *

 

Morty wakes up in his motel bed.

There’s a groggy recollection of what happened last night, and there’s a Rick washing up in the less than stellar bathroom. There’s also a flask in his pocket.

There’s also a decision to be made.

Rick steps out of the bathroom, squeaky clean and fully sobered up. He looks happy. Which is better than how he usually looks.

“Hey, Rick? I was thinking, about the whole week long trip… Let’s do it. Let’s see the stars.”

“Woah, no reason to be poetic about it,” Rick says, “But hey, really? A weeklong adventure?”

“Yeah.”

“Woo! First stop, the lab coat emporium. Let’s get you a coat that actually fits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm going to attempt a regular schedule here. I'll (hopefully) upload a new chapter every Saturday. Each chapter will be aroundish 2k words. Also, Thank you guys so much for all the comments! I read each one of them.


	3. Morty for Scale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morty gets thrown into a (probably illegal) gladiator death match because Rick needs some cash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! This chapter has pictures this time! I'm not a very good artist, so they might be a little rough but hey, drawings! Call them an experiment. Because of the cursing and the bits of violence, blood, ect. I bumped this up to Mature. Unrelated: I listened to Eptic nearly the entire time while writing this.

“You like it?”

“It’s… nice.”

In the passenger side of the spaceship, Morty poked at the lapels of his new lab coat. The tail no longer dragged across the floor, and instead of making Morty’s body look small and vulnerable, it added sharp corners to his shoulders and made himself seem much more important to the universe.

It almost fit Morty a little too well, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

After the morning shopping spree at the lab coat emporium. they had been traveling for two entire hours, off the beaten space path. They’ve only seen cattle planets for the past hour.

“...Are we there yet?” questions Morty, for the fifth time in 30 minutes. With nothing to do, he’s resigned himself to pissing off RIck.

“Morty, I swear, if you ask me that stupid fucking question one more time, I’m going to enter you into a pseudo-legal gladiator fight for the death so I can make some quick cash betting on you. Kapiece?”

“Wow… That’s really… Wow, Rick.”

“I’m only slightly kidding. We were going to that anyway today. Might as well rip that band-aid off now.”

“Wait, what?”

For a single moment in time, Morty thinks about what his Grandpa just said, making the face that the entire Smith family has perfected. Every moment thereafter  consists of Morty screaming in terror.

“Jeeze, calm your shit.”

“I’m sorry, how can I calm my shit when you’re going to throw me into a deathmatch with some--”

“Monsters and general terrors of the universe, most of which are at least twice your size and strength? Look, this little outing of ours that we got planned is going to throw a huge dent in my wallet. We’re just going to recoup some of our losses by having you beat a couple aliens bloody. No big deal.”

“No big deal? This is insane, RIck! I’m going to die!”

“We could take you back to your parents.”

Morty shuffles in his seat, looking for the right answer in a sea of wrong ones. He eventually comes up with a small ‘No...Let’s do this…”

“LET’S DO THIS! Ever been to Dimension 7, Morty? It’s a nice getaway in the summer.”

A planet appears below them; its atmosphere is a mix of toxics colors of brown and red. There seems to be an acid storm taking place on a part of the planet.

“Sadly, it’s fall where we’re landing, so it’s a real shithole.”

The two land on top of a parking building in what looks to be the shady part of town. From the roof, Morty can see two separate drug deals and a mugging happening simultaneously. He sticks alongside Rick closely.

After several flights of stairs, coupled with winding alleyways, they find a crooked door sticking out of the wall.  Before knocking, Rick pulls out a small device from his pocket.

“See this, Morty? It’s an earpiece. I’m going to be feeding you all the weak points of the baddies you're facing. You thought you were going to have to do this all by yourself, didn’t you?”

“I--uh--”

A scream can be heard from behind the door.

“Well, looks like they need a new contestant! Let’s go.”

Rick opens the door, and Morty really wishes he didn’t. Between the crowds of aliens sitting around a center arena, the flickering lights, and the shady looking guy running the sign up table, Morty was tempted to run right then and there. Rick pushes Morty forward to the register table as he throws in his earpiece.

Looking closer, the sketchy looking guy at the register happens to be another Rick. This one hasn’t shaved in a while, and his hair is lighter and messier than the usual updo that most Rick’s carry.  He’s also missing a finger. Morty’s own Rick takes a signup sheet and absentmindedly waves it in his general direction. Morty takes it, and reluctantly starts filling in the details.

“What’s the lineup for today?”

“We got a couple of new combatants in this week. A bit different than usual.”

“Well, thanks, ding dong, that tells me sooo much.” Rick retorts. “Gimmie the betting list.”

“I bet your Morty isn’t going to make it past round one.”  
Rick slams his hands on the rickety table. “Bitch, you don’t know my Morty.”

Morty is tugged down a side hallway by a slender, dark creature once he’s done filling out the form. Once his eyesight adjusts to the darkness, he begins avoiding the questionable puddles dribbled about the floor. He’s ushered into an elevator, and as soon as he’s in, the gate behind him closes. No backing out now.

  _Morty, can you hear me?_

“Rick?” The elevator begins to drop.

_Good, this is working. Look, there’s going to be five creatures you’re battling today. Most of them are bigger than you, so there’s no use using pure strength against these guys. You’re going to have to outsmart them, Morty. You think you can do that?_

“Y-y-yeah, I think I can try.” The elevator creeps to a halt.

_There’s no ‘trying’ this time around, Morty. Trying gets you dead. You actually have to win, Morty._

“Aw, gee.”

The gate squeaks open, and Morty steps out into the arena. It’s a rather large pit made up of  cinder blocks painted an off color white. There’s a concrete floor smeared with stains; the ‘roof’ is actually chain fence that shows off the arena to the spectators situated around in bleachers. There’s way too many Ricks watching this. Some of them are booing.

In each corner of the square arena, there’s a lamp post holding a flood light pointing toward the center of the fighting ring. The gate closes behind Morty.

_First up is a Voxtrox. Look alive, Morty! Or don’t. I need the odds to be against me so I win big. Look like shit, Morty._

“What the hell is a Voxtrox?”

A green portal, twice the size of the ones Morty’s used to conjures itself up in the middle of the arena. There’s a hiss, and then a Voxtrox leaps out. For reference, a Voxtrox looks like this:

_It’s a big dumb lizard with a giant knife growing from it’s tail. Duh._

Morty begins graduating near one of the corners. “R-R-Rick!”

_Huh, tail looks a bit rusty. Hope you got your tetanus shot, Morty._

The Voxtrox begins swinging its tail about, making whooshing sounds with the blade, abruptly, it does a complete 360 degree turn, leading with its tail. Morty instinctively ducks at the last possible moment.

While missing Morty, the blade makes a clean sweep through the steel lamp post, cutting off the lights in that corner and leaving exposed wires. The cut off portion rattles both the ground, and Morty’s nerves. The tail blade gets stuck in the concrete wall, which gives him time roll out from under the blade. The Voxtrox shrieks, and pulls out its tail, along with some bits of concrete. This gives Morty an idea.

Morty backs up against an opposing wall. Most of the booing increases, much to Morty’s displeasure. The Voxtrox gleefully walks up to him, licking it’s lips with at least three tongues. It strikes again with its tail. This time, Morty ducks rather skillfully.

This time, The Voxtrox gets its blade tail stuck well into the wall. It’s hiss-screeches become more struggled and panicked sounding. It’s nearly unbearable to listen to.

_Now bash its unevolved head in with the light remains._

Morty thinks about this for a second. The Voxtrox cries.

_Do it._

Morty slowly walks over and picks up the top of the flood light. There’s a sudden urge to succumb to.

And at once, Morty succumbs.

The Voxtrox is out with one good bashing; the limp body is portaled away, but before that happens, the knife part of the body shatters, leaving a sizable chunk of blade leftover.

_Alright! One down, four to go. Ever heard of a Meflas, Morty? It’s whats dropping in next. Just--Just-Just start ripping out the gems on its back. Maybe even snag one or two._

Morty’s already winded from the previous matchup; so when a horizontal mega portal opens up above his head, he’s slow to react. An earthquake size boom knocks him back into the game. Behind him, there’s his second matchup of the day, the Meflas.

For the record, a Melfas looks a bit like this.

 

Underneath the tail lies a couple of scrawny legs, which look as if they’re straining under their own weight. Morty chuckles to himself, poised for action.

_What kind of idiot made you?_

The Meflas begins charging full speed towards Morty, and strangely, Morty does the same. Just as they’re about to collide, Morty dips to a sliding position and skims his way between the Meflas’s legs. The wall stops his slide, and he pops up behind the monstrosity. The Melfas is too clunky to properly turn around, and Morty begins his easy pickings on the gemstones. Minding the trumpeting screams, they’re pulled out relatively quickly. They leave a bit of blood on the concrete, but it’s nothing that Morty isn’t used to.

When the last gemstone is ripped from the top of the Meflas’s head, it falls to the ground in an undignified heap. Morty jumps off of the body, which seemed to begin to wither without having the stones. There’s yellow blood everywhere, but only the body is taken away via portal.

_Alright! Good job Morty. Tired yet?”_

Morty hunches over, attempting to rest.

_Looks like it. Too bad that this next guy is a doozie._

“Wha-what am I fighting next, Rick?”

_Hold on, I’m getting a call from Summer._

The third mega portal opens up, and out steps some sort of two legged fishy creature from the depths. It’s got a unibrow, so Morty nicknames it Fish Rick. Interestingly enough, it’s got a ball of water floating in the air underneath it.

According to Morty, Fish Rick looks something akin to this:

 

The floating orb of water nestled underneath Fish Rick begins to twitch and move, then detaching completely. It erratically jerks across the arena, before deciding to dance around Morty’s head. Morty isn’t really sure what to do.

“Look, Rick, you really gotta clue me in on what I’m fighting here…”

_What? No, no, NO, Summer, I’m not taking him back for at least a week. It’s not like I’m going to kill him or anything!_

The ball of water floating around Morty’s head shoots forward and enveloped his face.

Suddenly, Morty is drowning.

Once he realizes what’s taking place, he holds his breath. FIsh Rick is controlling a floating orb of water like a coward in the corner. Morty moves his head from side to side, and the orb of water follows. Still holding his breath, he flips off the creature.

There’s a sharp pain in his ear that almost throws off his focus. Morty sticks his hand in the water orb, and yanks out the the problem: Rick forgot to make his earpiece waterproof.

Well, shit. There goes that.

At least it gives Morty another scheme.

Morty jerks his head out of the water orb that’s choking him to grab a quick breath before it catches up to him. He jogs his way over to the broken lamppost stub in the corner with wires still sticking out from the ends, connects two of the wires, and jerks his head out of the water orb just enough so that he can stick the wires inside the floating ball safely.

And from 30 yards away, Fish RIck collapses.

The water orb falls to the ground, no longer controlled. Morty simply walks over to the creature prior to being taken away. “Next time, don’t make your weak point the thing you attack with.”

This time there’s no Rick to congratulate him. There’s the crowd screaming in the distance, but all Morty hears is silence.

The next mega portal opens up behind Morty. He cracks his knuckles, prepared for anything.

Without names, Morty can only go by descriptors. This alien looks as if a moth had an affair with a squid; to which the husband of the moth came home, lost his collective shit, and lit everything on fire in an act of revenge.

In other words, it looks a bit like this:

 

Dancing on top of the Squidmoth’s head is a tiny flame, pink and unnatural. This is getting too easy.

Squidmoth begins spewing fire at Morty’s feet. This seems fine at first, until Morty’s bloodstained sneakers and pants take up the flame. He panics, and runs over to the puddle of leftover water from the last battle. It only makes the flames explode underneath him.

Morty hates grease fires, if only because he’s made way too many of his own on the stove.

While avoiding the now flaming puddles, Morty makes his way to the nearest intact lamp post, and begins shimmying up. As the pole’s foundation melts to the flame, Morty makes a jump for the chain ceiling, and manages to grab onto the overhead chains. It’s a long way down, but he has a plan. He positions himself overhead of the flying Squidmoth (Who has, for the most part, completely lost Morty), and drops down onto its head. The flames aren't as hot up here, but they’re still giving Morty a run for his money. Squidmoth flails around; however, Morty’s prepared. He tucks his hands into the sleeves of his lab coat, and then pushes down on the pink head flame, extinguishing it.

A few seconds later, Morty and the Squidmoth are lying on the ground.

Most of the boos at this point have turned to cheers. Morty looks at the crowd stationed above him, and gives them the double bird. For some reason, this makes them go wild.

Morty’s then promptly knocked down into the floor.

Upon turning around, he finds the culprit fairly quickly. They had already replaced Squidmoth with his next challenger, a small creature charging up some sort of energy beam with its hands. Without notice, it sends out a ball of something deadly looking. Morty rolls just out of reach.

Morty finds this creature rather hard to name its features. Between the hand lasers and energy balls being thrown at him every other second, there isn’t really much to think about other than ‘how to dodge next’. The walls behind him are quickly being torn apart from the blasts, and the leftover wisps of fire from the last battle make the floor hard to maneuver. Like the arena, Morty’s getting tired.

After dodging for the umpteenth time, Morty finally slips up on a puddle of blood near the wall where he killed the Voxtrox. It’s metal blade of a tail still stuck out from the remnants of the cinder blocks. He catches himself near inches from slicing his head on the edge. Behind him, he can hear the synthesized giggle of an alien charging up a death beam. For the last time, Morty has an idea. At the last possible moment, when he knows that he’s almost done for, Morty whips around with a piece of broken blade gripped tightly in his hands.

The scene probably looked something like this:

 

The death ray of the small alien reflected on itself. Because the creature wasn’t quite expecting a full mirror, there’s only a split second where the cinderblock arena isn’t covered in a pink blood.

Morty slides down against the wall, breathing heavily. It’s done.

The first thing he notices is that the blade piece is highly reflective. Morty stares at the piece for a few seconds, scrutinizing his face. It’s nearly unrecognizable.

The second thing Morty notices is that his hands are bleeding. A blade, after all, is rather sharp; he had held on too tightly. two red lines cut across his palms. Surprisingly, Morty didn’t feel any pain. Just numbness.

Unexpectly, a portal opens up behind him. Morty can feel the back of his coat collar being tugged, and when that didn’t move him, a couple of hands wrap around his shoulders and pull him through. The other side turns out to be the roof of the parking lot Morty was in earlier.

“Show me your hands, Morty.” It’s Rick, standing over him. He’s drinking from his flask, pinky out.

Morty groans.

“Hands. Now.”

Hesitantly, Morty does as he’s told. Rick dumps the rest of the contents of his flash on his wounds. The actual pain of the wounds kick in.. Morty screams.

“Y-You're not supposed to use regular drinking alcohol on wounds, Rick! Just the medical stuff!”

“Not the crap that I drink. Cuts aren't as deep as I thought. Good job Morty, you avoided a trip to the hospital. Like I said earlier though, you got your tetanus shot, Right? I mean, it’s not like I’ll be able to pay hospital bills with ALL THIS MAD CASH YOU MADE US!”

Rick pulls out a wad of alien money from one of his many pockets, and grins from ear to ear. He splits half of the stack, and then tosses it to Morty, who’s still whimpering on the ground. He stares blankly at it.

“I--I killed things for this money. I’m a monster.” Morty whispers.

“Yeah, well, we’re all monsters, Morty. It’s what you do with being a fucking terror that makes or breaks you. Now hold still, I have to bandage your hands. If you just did what I told you to do over the earpiece we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Rick, the earpiece shorted out halfway through. Tha-That big creature with the orb of water shorted it out. I don’t know what you even said for the last two fights!”

Rick contemplates this. When he’s done applying bandages, he pulls out the stack of money, and throws Morty another small portion of it.

“Huh. Impressive. Now get in the car. We got another big day planned out tomorrow Morty, and you’re going to need some rest.”

 


	4. Take-out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Sanchez family members go through a phase in their teenage years without a neck. There is no other reason for this but genetics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that Finale, eh? Also, Learned pretty darn quickly that I can't keep myself to a schedule. Lolwhoops

 It’s 5 AM, according to the ship’s clock, and Morty’s running on four hours of sleep.

He wasn’t trying to pull a Margaret Thatcher, he really wasn’t. It just sort of happened. In fact, Morty passed out as soon as he hit the passenger seat. He didn’t even bother to buckle his seatbelt this time around.

He wakes up to the sound of cheap 80’s pop blaring through the ship’s speakers.

“Good morning, princess,” Rick teases,  plucking a cup of coffee from a nearby cupholder. “How’s your hands?”

The question snaps Morty into his normal, cognizant state.. “M-M-My hands?”

“Honestly, Morty, I’d make a wise crack about your idiocy right about now, but I’m too tired for that. Yes, your hands.”

Morty still aches from whatever the hell he did earlier, but he’s still strong enough to lift his hands up to his face. There’s two big, ugly bandages on them. Morty pulls them off. There’s bigger and uglier cuts underneath. They’re red and throbbing, but no longer open, and no longer bleeding. Rick holds a coffee cup in front of them. Instinctively, Morty latches on.

“Thanks?”

“You’re going to need it. With what we’re doing today? I’d suggest you drink like, five of those.”

Morty whines. “Please, Rick, I don’t think I can take another illegal fighting ring…”

“HA! We got so unbelievably lucky yesterday with that lineup. Anything harder than that and I would have pulled you out.”

“Maybe luck had nothing to do with it,” Morty says. “Maybe I’m great.”

Morty can’t see it, but Rick bites down on the inside of his cheek. Happy that he got the final word, Morty takes a swig from his coffee. It burns going down his throat, but not in the way he expects.

“Whoops. That one’s mine. It’s mixed with Kahlua.”

The two exchange coffee cups, and Morty sits, silent, tracing his fingers around the plastic lid. He’s too nervous to ask Rick what they’re doing today, but he’s also eager to get to whatever plans Rick has in store. If it wasn’t the eagerness, the coffee now running through his otherwise empty stomach, and Oingo Boingo blaring in the background, Morty would have passed out again.

Rather, Morty stares out the window. There’s a serene feeling he gets from looking out at entire planets used for growing cattle, entire solar systems dedicated for the sole purpose of growing food for trillions of lifeforms. Morty has even gotten the enjoyment of using the ship’s outer speakers to yell ‘BUNCH’ at space sheep; much to his delight, they grouped together. At the most, it makes the universe feel much bigger than he anticipated.

At the least, it makes Earth feel so very, very, tiny.

A small planet in the distance draws closer, until it fills up the window’s view completely. The planet’s sun is just coming up over the horizon, giving Morty just enough sunlight to make out the scene below. Pawn shops. An entire planet of pawn shops.

“Here’s the plan.” Rick’s voice scares Morty out of his trance, “We go into one of these shops, buy up all of their cheap electronics, right? And then we build something stupid out of all of the parts, and by the end of the day, we’ll go back to the same pawn shop and sell off what we made for a profit. It’s a basic money making scheme that I use all the time..."

“We’re building something today?” Morty sits up straight at the words.

Rick can’t help but show a smile. “That’s the spirit.”

They touch down in an unmaintained parking lot, a bit too close to the ship parked next to them. Morty has no choice but to scrape up the stranger’s ship as he opens the door.

The sweet scent of decades’ old wiring and grease attacks Morty’s nose as he and Rick enter the pawn shop together. This particular one had aisles of old junk neatly set up and categorized. Other than the lowly alien employee tapping away at his phone in the corner, the place is ripe for the technological picking and otherwise void of anyone else. Rick issues a single command: “Start buying”.

Morty has no idea in the slightest what any of this stuff does. There’s lots of wires, and buttons, and thingamabobs. Occasionally, Rick passes by and tells him what it is. The names don’t make sense now, but Morty figures that they will one day. When he fills up his lab coat pockets, he starts using his shirt to carry around his gadgets.

When he has absolutely no more room to carry things around, Morty shuffles his way to the front counter, where the cashier sits, still texting. He empties his pocket treasures onto the glass countertop, and a much less encumbered Rick does the same next to him. When he’s done, Morty can feel a hand begin to ruffle his hair from behind.

There’s a whiny voice from behind the counter. The shopkeep has decided to stop texting. “That’ll be 2763 Miyms, please.”

The hand once ruffling his hair is now pushing him closer to the counter. Rick wants him to pay. Morty stiffens.

“Pay for half.”

“It’s your project, Morty,” Rick says, “besides, I gave you 3/4ths of last night’s winnings. Be a grown up and pay for this yourself.”

“Fine.” Morty turns around to Face Rick. Everything about him screams ‘trying to intimidate’.

“Pay for 25 percent then.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “You’re bleeding me dry, Morty. Y-y-you’re about two branches away on a cladogram from a fucking leech.”

The two pull out their wads of cash, count out their part of the bill, and drop the money on the table. They tuck all of their new gadgets into their pockets, and waddle themselves back outside. Instead of jumping back into the car, however, Rick has other plans. “Type five-one-three-eight-zero-zero-eight into your portal gun. It’ll be quicker.”

“Is...is this a joke?”

“They’re actual coordinates, Morty. Wh-wha-what, you think Grandpa can’t make a joke once in awhile? Y-Y-”

“Alright, gee, quit being so defensive.” Morty digs around in his pockets, until he finds his own portal gun. he punches in the numbers, and the spinning void of uncertainty pops up in front of their faces. This is the first time that Rick has seen Morty open up a portal with his own gun. He’s done it himself millions of times before, but the green light of Morty’s portals are just somehow more alluring. Rick sticks his head in, then back out.

“Bruh, your gun isn’t calibrated. The portal’s like, three feet off of the ground.”

“I-I don’t know how to--”

“That’s okay. That’s what today is for. Practice.”

Rick jumps through the portal, and after almost forgetting about the three feet gap on the other end, Morty jumps through too.

The room they land in is still without light, but Morty can easily pick out a few objects. There’s a long table leaning up against the a windowed wall holding an absurd amount of technology. There’s a couple of cots set up in a nearby corner. There’s a hunched over figure in the other corner, about to turn on a light switch.

Sudden brightness. Morty squints.

“Welcome to my home away from home,” Rick says, running his hand up against the nearby table, “Wow. it’s been a loooong time since I’ve been back here. Grab a chair, Morty. There should be some blueprint paper ‘round here somewhere.”

“Wh-where are we?” Morty asks.

“Oh, this place? Just an old workshop I set up on an empty desert planet YEARS ago. It’ll suit our purposes for now.”

There’s too many questions Morty wants to ask. He begins one, and then a growl from his stomach interrupts him.

“Oh, shit, almost forgot. When’s the last time you’ve eaten? Sit tight, I’m going to go grab some grub for the both of us before we get started. I want you, while I’m gone, to draw a gadget so half-baked and idiotic that your dad would use it. Got it?”

“...Yeah.”

“Sweet. Be RIGHT back.”

Rick types some numbers into his own gun, and steps through a portal into the unknown.

Morty never realized he was hungry.

After finding a pencil and a few pages of blueprint paper, Morty sits down on a nearby stool and begins to sketch something out. It’s not perfect, and it’s not to scale, but it’s something. When he’s completely finished, Rick still isn’t back.

With boredom quickly setting in, Morty turns to the gadgets on the table. There’s the cheap ones from their earlier outing sitting neatly in a pile, but there’s several more dust covered ones sitting around. But beyond that, there’s something he recognizes as far more earthly: a photo frame.

There’s too much dust covering the glass of the frame for anything inside. Instead, he peers in between the frame and the glass to see if there’s actually a photo inside. There is. Morty pulls it out.

   

 

There’s an odd feeling Morty gets in his gut. It’s less of a “You need to get the hell out of here right this instant,” kind of feeling, and more of a “Wow, Mom really looked hot back then,” sort of feeling, but regardless, it throws Morty for a loop. Or perhaps it’s his stomach acting up from not eating for at least a day. Before he can decide on why he suddenly has goosebumps, a portal appears behind him. Morty hears a belch before anything else.

“Back… Morty? You there? Ea-uuuup-th to Morty, He--”

“O-Oh! Didn’t notice you there.”

“Yeah, was beginning to think you’ve gone deaf. Everything okay?”

“Y-y-yeah! Just a bit hungry.”

They gather at one of the table’s ends, Where Rick passes out paper plates and disposable forks. From the small cartons he’s brought back, it looks like he’s brought back Chinese food. The only looks seems to be the indescribable symbols on the side. Rick opens the top of the carton, and dumps the contents out with an unsatisfying _plop._

That’s definitely not Chinese food.

Most of the contents look to be purple. And there’s tentacles in it. Tentacles that are still moving. Morty nearly gags. Rick grumbles, and then begins to stab the still moving limbs until they lie still. Once they’re dead, Rick neatly folds up a napkin, and places it in his lap.

“Bon appétit, B-uuuurr-itch.”

“Rick, this is, this is--” Morty pokes at a tentacle with his own fork. It begins squirming. Instinctively, Morty slams his fork down on it. “This is disgusting, alright? I-I’m not eating it.”

“Morty, I’m not going to run to a fucking Burger King whenever you want something to eat. There’s a time where you have to learn that Earth food isn’t on every single corner of every single planet. We’re going to start weaning you off of that RIGHT now, you weenie. Eat.”

“Nuh uh. Not eating it.”

“Morty…” Rick’s tone turns to an impatient one.

“No.”

“Starve then, I don’t care.”

Rick opens up his own carton, and a similar _plop_ follows. There’s less stabbing this time, rather, RIck starts neatly cutting up his tentacle with a plastic knife. “You know, if you finish your plate, I’ll tell you the story behind that picture of your Mother and I. Yeah, I saw you looking at it, you little shit.”

“You…?” Morty starts, but that’s not how he finishes, “This is blackmail.”

Rick hands him a plastic knife. “It’s bribery actually, but good try.”

With everything working against him, he sits and stares at the dish. There’s always the option to portal away and find something a bit more appetizing…

...But he’s hungry…

...And that story…

Begrudgingly, Morty thrusts his fork into one of the tentacles, and cuts off a bite size portion. Well, it _smells_ fine.

He takes a bite. It’s chewier than other meats, and a bit on the salty side, but it’s not inedible. He can do this.

Nearly half an hour and two water bottles later, Morty’s plate is clean. Whatever he just ate was better when it was warm, but there’s no urge to throw up. Morty considers this a success.

Rick looks rather pleased with himself. “Your Mother couldn’t finish that same dish.”

“Well, Mom wasn’t bribed into it. Storytime.”

“Alright, alright, jeeze. When your Mom was your age, I took her out on the same outing that we’re doing now. She wanted to be a scientist, so I showed her the universe.”

“And?”

“She loved the whole thing. Probably more than you. Wasn’t too keen on the whole food thing, but, you know…”

“And?”

“You know the rest of the story. Got knocked up by Jerry. Then it was suddenly ‘Oh, I don’t want to travel the stars with you anymore Dad, I just want to settle down on Earth now’ and ‘Oh, daddy, please don’t be mad at me, but I’m going into vet school. Have to make a living for the family somehow’.”

“That’s-That’s it? That’s the story?”

“Cruddy ending, right? But I’m rectifying that right now. Go get the plan you drew up earlier, I wanna see.”

Morty, feeling slightly cheated by his ‘story’, stands up to grab his blueprint. He brushes the photo to the side. They looked so happy working together. Morty will probably never make Rick that happy.

Morty pushes the plates and napkins aside, and sits his creation on the table for Rick to see.

“Morty, that is the dumbest thing I’ve seen in a long time. And I watched two Cyloopians fight over a cardboard box before,” Rick says. It makes Morty slump, but only for a second. “It’s perfect. Pawn shops eat that shit up. Let’s start.”

* * *

 

 Ten hours later, and there’s a functioning robot scuttling across the workshop walls.

This was one of the few times in his life where Morty had completely lost track of time. It was as if this planet’s sun was on a five minute cycle, and Morty had just stopped watching the window for a few minutes.

“The sun isn’t on a five minute cycle, Morty,” Rick assured him. “It’s actually on a 30 hour cycle. It’s one of the reasons I chose this planet to put my workshop on.”

“And the other reasons?”

“It’s the middle of the desert. Shit doesn't rust out here.”

The completed robot climbed up and down ceilings and walls, projecting interdimensional television from its lens. Rick had even suggested to add a popcorn maker to it somewhere down the line, so it did that too. In the end, it began to run between Morty’s legs and up his back, almost tickling him in the process.

“Don’t get too attached,” Rick says, “We’re going to sell it soon.”

“I know, I know. Isn’t that right, Vodbot?”

“...I’m talking to a brick wall.”

Rick opens up a Portal back to the pawn shop, and the two step through. It looks just as empty as when the arrived. The lone cashier is still staring at his phone. Morty strides up to the counter, and places the Vodbot on top of it. The cashier looks up.

“Hmmm…. I’ll give you five Miyms for it.”

There’s a whisper in Morty’s ear. “Did you show him the popcorn maker?”

Morty presses a button stationed on top of the device. It begins spewing popcorn.

“Fair enough… how about 6000 Miyms?”

Both men simultaneously slam their hands on the glass. “DEAL.”

As they’re leaving, the Vodbox scuttles towards Morty, trying to attach himself to his coat on the way out. He physically has to unstick the bot from himself to set it back on the table. “No, Vodbot, this is your home now.”

If robots could look sad, this one would have.

They leave the pawn shop to find that the day on this particular planet is almost over. This planet’s sun has almost disappeared, leaving the sky without a fireball for a few hours.

Well, almost.

The pawn shop behind them explodes.

There’s a great boom behind them that tears through Morty’s bones and very soul. debris flies over their heads, landing on top of the car that Rick had parked next to. Looking behind himself, there’s a fireball 50 feet high where the store once was. Rick shrugs before pulling out his flask.

“Wh-wha-what the HELL? RICK?”

“I didn’t do it,” Rick takes a swig from his flask, “Although, I think I know what did.”

“Oh, really? Because an explanation would be NICE here!”

“I think your little bot got too sad and lonely once it realized that you were gone for good, and exploded. Oh look! It’s raining popcorn. Morty, stick your tongue out. There’s popcorn falling from the sky.”

“Rick…”

“If you’re going to be a little baby about it then get in the car.” Rick says. “The driver’s seat. It’s your turn to take us to tomorrow's little event.”


End file.
